Some Other Beginning's End
by alyxpoe
Summary: This is a slow-burning story about accepting yourself for who you are. Rated M for language and plot. Warnings: violence, self-harm and grief. -SLASH- Martin lives through a traumatic experience. What will happen when Douglas is forced to see he has developed feelings for his captain on top of it all?
1. Who I Want to Take Me Home

**Some Other Beginning's End**

**Chapter 1: Who I Want to Take Me Home**

_Bang._

Bang.

BANG!

His heart thudding and in a blind panic, Douglas Richardson stumbles from his bedroom towards the noise coming from the direction of his front door, a sound no rational person ever wants to hear. He is only half awake and trying to tie the sash on his dressing gown whilst at the same time attempting to figure out who would be pounding on the door at three o'clock on a Sunday morning. His house is full of those black-on-grey shadows that only the wee hours bring; they throw his furniture into a weird bas relief and he carefully avoids impacting anything as he lurches forward.

Wearily rubbing his eyes with one hand and fearing the absolute worst, he fumbles to unlock and turn the knob with the other. The door swings open and Captain Martin Crieff crashes through it with a grunt of pain.

As is his way, Douglas takes this in stride and gingerly lowers himself to his knees, ignoring their popping with the strain. He takes a bleary look at the red-headed man now sprawled on the floor and shakes his head in an effort to chase away the remnants of sleep still plaguing him.

"Captain?" He asks as he grips Martin's solid biceps in order to help him at least sit up, if not to his feet yet. Douglas notes with some trepidation the dried tear stains on Martin's face and what appears to be a slight spattering of paint droplets on one side of his jaw. Though there are light freckles across the bridge of his nose, these droplets are too red for that, practically rust-colored, like blood.

"Martin, are you alright?"Douglas has never felt so much concern for the captain as long as they've known each other; considering that includes a time when he landed dear old GERTI on a single engine, that's really saying something. Against the tight hold Douglas has on Martin's arms, Martin is trembling but not speaking. Without another word, Douglas braces himself and hauls the rather-heavier-than-he-looks captain towards the sitting room and the sofa. It takes some effort, but he manages to get the almost catatonic man situated on the couch and decides that the best thing Martin needs right now would be tea.

Douglas returns in five minutes with two brewing cups, thanking his lucky stars that he had the sense enough to fill the electric kettle for morning when he switched it on. He's pretty sure he would have been unable to actually get the water into the thing at this hour; Douglas' hands are trembling slightly from the exertion and suddenness of the wake-up call.

Martin is curled up on the sofa with his hands on his knees, fingers holding tight to the thin material of the loose cotton trousers he's wearing. He is staring straight ahead at the television that is not playing. Douglas steps directly into his line of non-sight and holds out his cuppa then counts to thirty before Martin reaches for it then moves his head from side to side a little, forcing Martin's attention up to his face as he lets go.

"Martin, you're here because you obviously need help with something big. It's not like you to pound on someone's front door at three in the morning—knowing you, you'd wait outside all night even if you had pneumonia because you wouldn't want to be thought of as _rude_." Martin dips his chin slightly. Well, that's at least a reaction.

"So, please, could you tell me what's happening?" He pleads as he pulls his chair around so that he is facing the captain. He sits down carefully but his tea cup wobbles slightly, splashing a few drops on his dressing gown. Douglas ignores them.

Martin takes a deep draught of his tea, causing Douglas to wince in sympathy as he is still feeling a slight burn on his leg. Seeming to strengthen his resolve, Martin sets his cup on the side table beneath a shiny brass lamp.

"Douglas, do you remember Marcus?" Martin asks quietly, as if fearing his very words will break something and seems to fold further into himself. He's still trembling slightly as he folds his hands together in his lap, eyes focused now on them instead of his friend.

Douglas considers Marcus Kelly, Martin's boyfriend. They had recently moved into a decent flat in Fitton together. Six months ago, if memory serves; he nods. How could he forget?

"Good." Martin takes a deep breath and steels himself.

Douglas' heart pounds in his chest. Martin doesn't appear to be hurt physically, though he does have what the first officer is fairly certain is blood on his face. Whatever he is going to say, it's going to be bad, without a doubt; Douglas is prepared to listen.

"Did you two have some sort of argument, Martin?" Douglas asks and Martin shakes his head.

"No. We just…" Martin trails off. "Things haven't been…" He runs a hand through his ginger curls, forcing them into a wilder mess than they already are then that same hand comes down and presses against his mouth as if trying to stop the words from coming out. He closes his green eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath, then slowly unzips the hoodie he's wearing; when it comes open Douglas hisses through his teeth because now he cannot _unsee_ what he's just been privy to.

Right in the center of Martin's pale-skinned, freckly and toned chest is two very large bruises that could only have been made by some sort of oddly rectangular tool or a big, meaty fist. Marcus is six foot three and a commercial welder. Everything in Douglas' world instantly turns scarlet as the puzzle pieces drop into place. He stands up out of his chair fast enough to turn his cup over but is completely oblivious to it hitting the floor and spilling the tannic dregs of his tea all over the cream-colored carpet. He's on his knees in front of the sofa, just looking. What tiny bit of medical education he still remembers serves him well; one of Martin's bruises is already on its way to healing, as it has turned a sickly yellowish-green around the edges. The other bruise is much fresher, bright purple with red streaks clearly outlining where each thick finger was positioned when the blow landed.

This makes Douglas incredibly angry. Without a doubt, Martin is well-muscled beneath this shapeless hoodie more so than Douglas expected; he knows that type of hit—directly to the chest, so very close to the heart—could kill a man and may very well have done had Martin been any weaker. Douglas makes a fist and reaches towards Martin's chest. Martin flinches for a moment, then relaxes when he sees what Douglas is about to do. He lays his fist gently on top of the newest bruise and shakes his head; he stands up and repeats the action then takes a deep breath.

"Martin, were you sitting down when…" he can barely stand to finish that sentence.

In response, Martin gnaws his bottom lip and looks everywhere but Douglas' face. Two large tears form in the corners of his eyes and fall unimpeded. He is trembling again, but Douglas is afraid to touch. Finally, Martin breaks under the weight of his confession. He leans forward and Douglas bends enough to catch him; they end up on the couch, Martin's face pressed against the side of Douglas' neck as his body is wracked with deep sobs.

Douglas does the best he can despite the circumstances to be comforting. Martin had been so happy when Marcus asked him to cohabitate, almost as happy as he is in the sky. Douglas remembers the slightest tinge of jealousy, though he valiantly tried to be glad for his captain. The very idea that big ape did something like attack Martin when Martin was defenseless is enough to make Douglas desire to call in three or four _hundred_ favors and have the man beaten to a pulp. To say that Marcus and Douglas hit it off the first time they met would be overstating things, they would never be the best of friends; he did not particularly like the man then and most certainly does not like him now.

Right now, though, before Douglas makes any calls, he needs to find out what has happened to Martin, who sobs are slowly sounding less desperate and more like he is trying to control them. Not to mention that the side of his neck is positively soaked. Douglas ignores it like spilt tea and wraps his arms around his captain. Martin does not flinch this time.

First thing's first. "Martin, did you call the police?"

"Yes." It's almost a whimper. Douglas thinks he must be getting close to the whole story now.

"You don't have to move, but could you please fill me in?"

Martin nods against him and Douglas tightens his hold on the younger man where he can feel the heaving of his chest beneath the material of the open hoodie.

"Douglas, after he hit me…he…" Martin tries.

"Its fine, Martin. We have all night." There's no way either of them are going to be in any shape to fly tomorrow, but at least it's just cargo. Favor number one is most certainly going to be to Hercules.

"He had a gun, Douglas. I had no idea it was even in the flat. I can't even tell you where it came from, but he had it. He was…he was shouting at me, calling me a little…um." Martin sighs pitifully, finds his strength when Douglas unconsciously tightens his arms again.

"Whore." Martin bites out. Douglas almost misses the word.

"That son of a bitch!" Douglas growls.

"Douglas, I can't…let me tell you, I don't think I'll be able to get through the whole thing a third time." Martin pleads.

"Alright, alright. But you do know I'm going to kill him with my bare hands for threatening you with a weapon, Martin." Douglas says coldly.

"You won't have to." Martin answers.

"What do you mean?" Ice in his veins, Douglas waits on tenterhooks for the answer. Surely Martin couldn't…

"I stayed in my chair, Douglas. I swear. He kept shouting at me, calling me all sorts of horrid names. I've never cheated on him, Douglas, not once in all the time we were together!" Martin raises his voice and pulls away from his chest to look the first officer directly in the eyes.

"I believe you." Douglas tells him, knowing full well that Martin may be a pompous little prick at times, but one of his finest qualities is that the man is fiercely loyal.

"So…he kept shouting at me and then he got quiet, really quiet. When I opened my eyes he was standing there in front of the window, just to that side of my chair…" Martin points in the direction to illustrate when only he can see in his mind. "…and…and…" here he hesitates again. Douglas has a feeling he knows what's coming, knows that Martin needs to say it.

"Marcus had the gun in his mouth, Douglas. I'll never forget the way the shiny silver barrel looked pressed between his teeth. He said to me," Martin gasps, fighting tears again, "he said to me that I was nothing but a nasty cockslut and that I would pay for what I had done to him. Then he…" Wheeze. "…he pulled the trigger."

"My God." Douglas whispers as he draws Martin back into him. He has no idea what to do so he does the only thing he knows, he holds his captain and finds himself rocking slightly on the spot, no longer concerned that the front of his dressing gown is completely soaked through. As he rocks Martin, he mumbles and mutters between deep, heart-wrenching sobs.

"After everything I did for him…after everything I let him do to me…I can't…I never did enjoy the ropes…sometimes he was rough, but I thought it would be okay…the first time, you see…the first time was my fault."

"Stop right there." Douglas commands. In his arms, Martin stills.

Martin is no dummy, he knows full well what he just let slip and he knows exactly what Douglas is thinking. Two people do not spend so much time flying, keeping their attention half on the plane and half on each other in order to learn one another's reactions should the need ever arise that they would have to react before speaking not to have some of those cues carry over into their friendship as well.

"Do not say _that,_ Martin. I don't know what happened between the two of you the first time he raised a hand to you, and you don't have to tell me tonight. But! I wish you would have said something sooner, perhaps things wouldn't have ended this way." He tries for a bit of compassion in his stern tone.

Martin nods against again, words failing. Douglas wraps him back up in his arms and holds him long after the captain falls asleep. In some small way, Douglas understands picking up the pieces after an emotional shattering; even if the situation is different, the need for comfort and feeling safe does not change. He does his best to relax against the arm of the sofa and slowly brings his legs up in order to stretch them out in front of him. Douglas adjusts Martin's sleeping form so that his head remains pillowed on Douglas' chest and he is cradled between Douglas' legs, then grabs the soft old afghan off the back of the couch and spreads it over Martin. Even with Douglas' natural body heat, he is sure the added comfort might be appreciated in the long run.


	2. Turn All of the Lights On

**Two: Turn All of the Lights On**

_"Well, now, there's my _little_ captain." Marcus smiles wolfishly over the book he's reading as Martin steps through the door. It is barely three seconds after their greeting that Martin finds himself pinned against the wall, Marcus' strong fingers grasping the lapels of Martin's uniform jacket in order to practically pull him upward; the action lifts him high enough that only the shiny toes of his shoes are touching the floor. As always, Martin finds himself equal parts flattered and flustered._

_"Hello."_

_Martin smiles up at the taller man then raises himself up on his tiptoes so that they are able to reach each other's lips. Marcus uses his considerable height and weight advantage to keep Martin in place against the wall. Martin wraps his arms around his boyfriend's waist and tugs him closer. In return, Marcus drops his head and busies his mouth against the side of Martin's neck while he works the knot of his necktie free. _

_Martin is tired and sags a little against the door, his arms tight around Marcus as if it is the only thing holding him upright. He sighs against his boyfriend's mouth when Marcus moves in to kiss him again. This time it's less about _passion_ and seems to be more about _lust_. _

_"Rough day, captain?" Marcus asks when he comes back up for air. His blue eyes are intent on his prey and he still manages to crowd his big frame closer against Martin's smaller one. _

_"Yes, it has been a horrible day. This ghastly customer mistook Douglas as the captain again and I…" Martin states wearily. _

_"Aw, Martin, come on. Let's not talk about work." Marcus casually says, his expression falling somewhere between pouty-sexy and perturbed; a move that caught Martin's eye in a dark corner of a pub one night when the captain was feeling exceptionally lonely. _

_Beneath the light words, however, Martin distinctly hears something else. His jaw snaps shut as he remembers that whilst on GERTI he is captain, at home things are different. _

_"That's it, my lovely." Marcus beams down at Martin as he cups the side of the captain's face with one hand then runs his hands through the longer than usual curls at the back of Martin's neck. "I brought you a present. It's in the bedroom if you'd like to try it on." Marcus rolls his hips so that Martin is left with no doubt how his boyfriend is feeling at the moment. He groans softly as a little bit of the weight of his day begins to fade away._

_Martin receives a peck on the lips for quieting down when asked. He offers Marcus a smile in return and gets a good slap on the behind when he turns towards the bedroom. Marcus' laughter follows him down the hallway. For some reason, the sound of it makes Martin feel more tense than the customer who mixed up his and Douglas' positions today—there's something ominous about it, but right then Martin is too tired and half-aroused to worry about it. _

_Martin begins getting undressed by slipping off his jacket and neatly draping it over the desk chair that is paired with the computer desk at the foot of the bed. The room is small: only the bed, a wardrobe and the IKEA desk and chair fit in here. Martin excuses himself for missing the present when he first enters the room. He is completely undressed by the time he notices it and he simply drops to the floor beside their bed and stares at it with a million thoughts running through his head at the same time. _

_Martin never wants to disappoint Marcus, after everything the other man has done for him, but he is really unsure about the strappy, lacy thing lying there so innocently. Martin picks it up and thinks that he could get used to the slightly rough texture of the black lace and even the silky black high-cut panties that lie beneath it. _

_It's the little note that is beside it all, however, that threatens to shake Martin's world apart. _

_ooo_

Martin begins to stir around seven thirty. He doesn't really move much, just a tiny twitch of his fingers against Douglas' thigh, but it is enough for the first officer to understand that Martin is coming around after sleeping so hard that there is bit of sweat on the back of his neck. Douglas tells himself that brushing Martin's curls there was only because he had nowhere else to rest his hand.

Douglas realizes that he has only cat-napped through the remainder of the night in order to keep a constant vigil on his friend. He has also discovered that the weight of the other man's sleeping body is not all that uncomfortable nor unwelcome. Perhaps it simply feels good to be needed, regardless of the situation. Martin _needs_ him, ergo Douglas can _help_. Of course, the best way of helping Martin rid himself of a large waste of space has already been done. He knows how ghastly that sounds, but frankly, at least in his own mind, he can consider that Marcus did the world a favor. For a few seconds he allows himself to mull over the reasons why he would never become friends with Marcus and decides that the top of the list is the way the man always spent so much time literally and figuratively talking _down_ to the captain.

"Martin, are you in the mood for breakfast? I've got some fresh strawberries or I could make you some toast." Douglas offers, trying his level best to sound as un-bossy as possible. The shaggy ginger head resting against his stomach shakes back and forth to the negative and for the first time in his life, he's glad he didn't sleep: no morning wood to contend with. That's the last thing Martin needs.

"Well, if _sir_ wouldn't mind, could I get up enough to use the loo and make us tea?" Martin shifts down a little ways to allow Douglas to move off the couch, apparently back to not speaking for the time being. He's still huddled into himself and the sight almost breaks Douglas' heart while at the same time it strengthens his resolve that he's got to get Martin back to rights. This quiet, withdrawn person is not the Captain Crieff he's fallen…

Oh no. Now is absolutely _not_ the time to go there, Douglas chastises himself as he runs through his morning routine. He digs a new toothbrush out of his travel kit and a razor and leaves them on the side of the sink for Martin then pulls some freshly laundered towels from the cupboard in the hall and stacks them on the back of the toilet. The captain will just have to make do with Douglas' shampoo; perhaps it won't mess those curls too much. Or perhaps it will…

On his way into the kitchen, Douglas has to remind himself again that this is not a good time for this behavior. Somewhere between flicking on the kettle and rinsing the strawberries in the colander, he gets it under control. He deftly balances everything on an old tea tray that he slides onto the table beside the couch then drops into his own chair. Martin is stretched out belly-down on the sofa, the hood of his shirt pulled over his head, limbs akimbo. When Douglas sits down, he rolls over onto his side to face the first officer. The slight movement pulls the hood off of his head, showcasing his mad ginger curls. Douglas is struck by just how _young_ Martin looks this instant.

"I left some basic necessities in the loo for you; you'll have to use my shower gel and shampoo, though. I have no idea what you need..." Without thinking, Douglas leans forward and brushes an errant curl off Martin's forehead, idly wondering why the captain has let his hair get so long when he always kept it a bit more controlled before; though Douglas has to admit to himself that the longer locks serve to soften Martin's lean, angular face and highlight his sharp cheekbones. "…for your hair." Douglas swallows and pulls his hand away before he goes too far. A feeling far too close to guilt curls up in his chest.

Martin tracks the movement of Douglas' hand, green eyes wary but he does not flinch. Douglas takes this as positive, all things considered, and settles back in his chair, flipping on the television and pushing the bowl of strawberries closer to Martin, honoring the tiny moment between them with silence.

The morning passes by with Douglas watching the television with half of his attention and Martin with the other half. Martin downs the bowl of strawberries and Douglas replaces it with a couple of slices of heavily-buttered toast and a few strips of bacon. After pretending to be as interested in whatever machine they are currently demolishing a house with on _Top Gear _as Martin seems to be, he finally gives up and vacates the sitting room with the dirty dishes.

Washing up takes almost no time at all, though he wishes he had a few more to do because he wants to give Martin some space; under no circumstances will Douglas allow Martin to go back to the flat he shared with Marcus until he is satisfied Martin is going to be okay. Douglas reads enough 'true crime' to understand the statistics of someone following a loved one over the brink when something like this happens.

His inability to give a name to Martin's current situation irritates Douglas. He finishes wiping down the counters and flips the kettle back on before deciding that he better call Hercules before the morning grows too long. He can give the other pilot the barest of the facts and Hercules will gladly take care of passing the word on to Carolyn.

The conversation lasts only a few minutes and Douglas hangs up, satisfied that at least this week is taken care of. As he so often does, once he decides he's going to do something, nothing stops him, and this week Douglas has made up his mind to be at Martin's beck and call.

Martin is stretched out on the couch asleep when Douglas returns but stirs as soon as he registers the other man's presence. Douglas crosses in front of the television to the overstuffed bookcase in the corner.

"'m sorry Douglas." Martin says through a jaw-cracking yawn as he sits up and rubs his eyes.

"Its fine, Martin." Douglas tells him as he searches the bookcase for something to read. Nothing seems interesting today, so he turns to Martin and asks, "Do you feel like talking for a bit? You don't have to tell me anything, but I admit I am a bit stymied and I'd like to understand how things between the two of you ended up this far out in left field."

Martin gives him a weak smile and sighs. "Last night the police asked me the same thing. It was difficult…no, more than difficult to discuss it all with a stranger, you know." He shrugs.

Douglas drops into his chair, books forgotten; he grabs the remote and switches off the television then pushes another button that kicks on the stereo, soon soft classical music fills the room.

"That's nice." Martin says, leaning back against the couch.

"Thank you. Listen, Martin, you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. Frankly, I'm just nosy and I care about you. I want to make sure you are going to be alright." Douglas watches the little yellow numbers on the stereo countdown how many minutes are left on the CD that is playing. Why is this type of stuff always so hard? He clears his throat. "If you don't feel like talking, it's fine. I'm here. I can run and get you a change of clothes…?"

Douglas doesn't finish his sentence because the broken-and-still-cracking expression on Martin's face catches him cold. Martin's eyes are screwed shut as if he's trying to strengthen himself against Douglas has no idea what.

"Martin, I won't. Listen, we can dig around, I'm sure I've got some stuff that will fit you..."

"Douglas, no. It's…it's not the clothes. I should have told you, I…" Martin tilts his head downward and holds both hands out towards Douglas, palms forward like he's working on pushing his emotions back down into his body.

"No, Martin. Let it out." Douglas wants to add that what the captain is doing _right there_ is probably part of why Martin is in so much pain. Obviously, it's not the entire reason, but he is sure he could have at least been there to _listen_ if Martin would have volunteered any information, regardless of how Douglas feels—felt—about Marcus.

"Just…please. Give me a second." Martin breathes through clenched teeth.

Douglas watches him closely, trying hard to empathize whilst at the same time glad that Martin at least seems willing to share. He takes a deep breath himself and tries to relax in his chair, wanting nothing more than to erase the pain that Martin is bending under.

"Alright. I can do this." Martin folds his hands in his lap and addresses them, his voice unsteady. "Right after we moved into the new flat, Marcus started asking me if I had ever thought of being someone else. " He sniffs and wipes at his eyes, though his composure holds.

"And I can't lie, Douglas, and say that I never had. Because, well, look at me. Look how many people think you are the captain because I'm so…so…well, _me._" Martin's voice cracks.

"Martin, it's okay. It's over." Douglas says gently, moving out of his chair to drop to the floor in front of the sofa, resting his back against it.

Martin lays a hand on Douglas' shoulder, unconsciously, Douglas is sure.

"Right, Douglas, you are right. I need to get this out, it's just so damned difficult to say."

"I understand." Douglas tells him.

"I thought he was in love with _me_, Douglas. Me! Apparently, I wasn't what he was after, because the questions didn't stop. He kept pushing and pushing, everyday—'Martin, have you ever thought about being someone else, maybe dressing in someone else's clothes, like a costume?' On and on he went about it, and you know I've never really been much for clothes. I have my MJN uniform and I always tried to look decent when I had Icarus or going out with you guys, but really, they don't matter to me. They never really have, money or no money."

Above him, Douglas hears Martin take a breath. The captain fidgets a little, though Douglas cannot tell with what until Martin scoots down beside him and leans against Douglas' side; he's trembling slightly. Douglas patiently waits for him to go on.

"See, Douglas, what started the argument that ended with Marcus…um, well, hitting me the first time was…" Martin's voice drops so low that Douglas is forced to place his head until it is almost touching the side of Martin's face. He stoically tries to ignore the fresh tears he sees there.

"The first time I made him that angry, it was because of the skin-tight, black lace dress and panties that he bought for me to wear." Martin whispers.


	3. One Last Call

**Three: One Last Call**

Upon hearing Martin's last Marcus-damning statement, Douglas has to control his natural impulse to jump up from the floor and begin shouting or breaking things. He manages to relax by telling himself that Martin is trying to share something important with him and reacting in that manner certainly would not prompt the other man to further confidences. Taking a deep breath, Douglas tries to remember that what Martin is saying is in the _past_, however recent that past might be.

"…Douglas?" Martin is staring at him now, auburn eyebrows meeting together over his nose. "I'm sorry."

"Whatever for, Martin?" Douglas asks.

"I'm sorry I never told you."

"Martin, don't be ridiculous. Granted, that does upset me, I won't deny it." Douglas closes his eyes and leans his head against the sofa cushions. "May I be perfectly honest with you for a moment?"

"Of course."

"I think you already know that I never particularly liked Marcus." Douglas states.

"Yeah, I believe I cottoned on when you were so polite to him every time I brought him 'round. You never made any jokes about me then, either." Martin copies Douglas so that their heads are now inches apart and Martin is unable to _not_ notice that Douglas seems to be a human space heater. There is something calming about that observation, some unnamed thing that makes Martin want to bare his heart and soul. He thinks that should bother him somehow, here on the day after his boyfriend's suicide, but maybe he is so messed up now-maybe what would normally knock people off their rockers no longer affects him. Either way, he is forced to admit that he hasn't felt this _comfortable_ being alone with anyone else in entirely too long.

Douglas' company is not forced, it simply exists—this rapport between them that in some ways, Martin has missed. Marcus never liked him to spend time with his coworkers outside of flying, and until this very minute, Martin had not realized what that meant.

"Marcus was afraid that I would tell you." Martin states, his firm voice a bit louder than he meant it to be.

Douglas opens his eyes and jerks his head forward at the sound. "Why do you say that?"

Martin shrugs. "Honestly, Douglas, I've no idea why I never thought about it before."

"Probably because you were too busy thinking of how to stay out of his way." Douglas tells him, his expression tight. When Martin doesn't say anything for a few moments, he thinks he may have finally gone too far.

However, the captain stays put; the only movement he makes is to pull his legs up to his chest. He rests his forehead on his knees and Douglas puts his hand on Martin's shoulder. Martin nods and sniffs.

"I've been so stupid, haven't I?"

"No, Martin, you really haven't." Douglas knows there's so much more he could add to that statement; words to the effect that _everyone wants to be loved_, and _sometimes people fool us because we want to be wanted_…but it all sounds so sappy and foolish in his mind that he decides it's better to keep his mouth shut. Besides, if he starts talking now, he will probably not shut up until he lets loose some things he intends to keep quiet.

Silence settles between them like a comfortable old blanket. Douglas does not move his hand.

"I actually thought about going through with it." Martin finally offers.

"With what?" Douglas really isn't sure if he truly wants an answer.

"Surgery."

What? "Do you mean…" Douglas can't even say the words.

"Yes. I mean to become a woman."

"Martin…" Douglas starts, unsure how to tactfully ask the question buzzing about in his brain. He finally grapples it. "Is that something you want?"

"No. Not really. But. Well." Martin stammers then takes a shallow breath. He stares at his fingers. "No, granted things have been rough for me in the past, but I've never felt, you know, like I was…um…in the _wrong_ body or anything."

"Okay." Douglas says with a tiny bit of relief. He lo- really likes the captain and cannot imagine what it would be like feeling that way, though he knows he would always stand by Martin's decisions.

"So you see, I thought maybe I was missing something when Marcus kept bringing it up. That since he is—I mean _was_ smarter than me about these types of things…then, maybe…"

"Martin, no. No he wasn't. Listen to me for a minute, please?" Douglas swivels around until he is facing Martin. The captain lifts his head from his knees and Douglas almost loses his nerve at the sight of his red-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked face. He wonders how anyone could weep so much so quietly then realizes that it should be apparent that Martin has had lots of practice. He steels himself against another surge of irrational anger.

"Yes, Douglas?" Martin catches his bottom lip in his teeth.

"Martin, what Marcus tried to do to you—or rather, what he tried to get you to do was a cover for his own insecurity or self-hatred or, I don't even know. Tell me, did he ever introduce you to his family or friends?"

Martin's voice is small. "No."

Douglas wants to push the issue, but some baser instinct stops him, instead he leans forward and pulls Martin into his arms. It's the best thing that he can think to do. When Martin begins to cry again very softly, Douglas tightens his hold and moves them so that he can rest against the sofa. In the back of his mind, he is aware of the sound of his mobile ringing but he ignores it in order to focus completely on Martin.

After a little while, Martin hauls himself upward and offers Douglas his hand. "No, its fine, Martin, I'll hang out here for a few more minutes."

"Alright," Martin half-mumbles. "That shower you mentioned earlier?"

Douglas is sad to see what tiny smidge of confidence Martin displayed earlier now seems to have evaporated.

"Martin, wait a minute," he calls, stopping the younger man in his tracks. He comes back, body now obviously tensing with each step and looks up from his contemplation of the carpet.

"Martin, all of this," Douglas gestures at Martin then himself and describes a circle around the room with his index finger, "this is a place where you can talk to me, okay? I'm your friend, understand?"

Martin nods and some of the tension falls away. This time he moves towards the hallway with a firmer step, though his shoulders are still slumped. Douglas has to turn away from him when the sound of his mobile goes off for the second time. He sighs and hauls himself upward in order to find the annoying machine. Seeing that Carolyn is the caller, he pushes the green button and answers in with a huff,

"Well, hullo there, dear boss Lady."

Of course real life is going to intrude sooner or later, though in the back of his mind Douglas had been seriously hoping for later. On the other hand, at least Carolyn gave them a little bit of space before she decided to phone.

"Is Martin alright?" Carolyn barks without preamble.

Douglas considers his answer. "I think, in time, he will be."

That seems to be good enough because the CEO of MJN is silent for a moment. When she finally speaks again, her voice is soft, caring. "I hope so, Douglas."

Since she has just said exactly what he has been thinking, he waits. It almost feels like two older people sitting next to each other on a park bench watching the youngsters play and perhaps contemplating their collective futures. Finally, she sighs.

"Hercules says he can take the cargo flights for a couple of weeks, though I know he's not about to do it out of the kindness of his heart. He's going to be positively _revolting_."

Douglas chuckles. Only Carolyn would see a man trying to woo her as revolting. Sad thing is, the more she pushes him away, the more Herc seems to cling to her. Maybe that's what he needed after all his failed marriages—a woman who isn't afraid to stand up for herself. While, Douglas, maybe what he needs is simply someone…

Douglas cuts off his own train of thought. "That's fine, Carolyn. Honestly, I don't see any reason why Martin and I can't fly. You know how much he loves it…he's going to need the normalcy of it."

"I agree with you, Douglas. I'll give him a few days, though; have him phone me, will you?" Carolyn says, her tone closer to normal now. "One last question, right quick, though, should I send his check to your house?"

"Yes." Douglas answers without thinking.

"Fine, then."

Douglas can hear Arthur and Hercules in the background, obviously either getting ready to fly out or just returning, so he rings off. His home is quieter now even for Martin's presence: it's an odd thing, really, almost comfortable; he stands in the center of the sitting room listening to the homey sound of the shower running, then stopping and decides that he better see to some nourishment for the both of them. He's got to tackle the 'where are you staying' issue sooner rather than later, so he moves into the kitchen and opens the fridge.

Douglas considers the options for a minute then his eyes settle on a fresh loaf of sour dough bread on the counter. That takes care of that and it takes no time to get out a couple of pounds of thickly chopped deli meat: ham and turkey, then Swiss cheese, mustard and lettuce. To the pile, he adds a tomato and an onion then sets to work slicing the vegetables and the bread.

ooo

Martin unconsciously takes his time in the shower, carefully cleansing the past forty-eight hours from his body, bit by bit. Parts of him wishes that he could do the same with his mind and just make the past year with Marcus simply go away; yet, he knows only the passage of days into months will alleviate the sorrow and grief he feels. Even after sharing with Douglas part of the story, Martin does have lightness in his chest now that was not present before. As he rubs the shower gel lather across his chest and belly, he takes care to avoid the bruises. Inherently, he understands that it's _all_ going to be a slow process.

Martin washes his hair then massages in a handful of Douglas' conditioner, instantly recognizing the subtle woodsy sent. It brings to mind cool spring days on the flight deck, playing some word game whiling away the time waiting on their customers to depart or return. He moves back some so that the spray is out of his hair for the two minutes he knows to leave the thick stuff in. That's when it occurs to him that at this point he is completely homeless: there is no way he can go back and live in the flat he shared with Marcus. A thousand scenarios tumble through his mind, each and every one of them presenting the same result—that he is going to have to move back into the attic at the agricultural school. The idea of going back to being the 'friendly ghost' makes a tremor of revulsion pass through his body. His mind balks at this the way a housecat balks at a bath.

Of course, there is the fact that Carolyn is paying him now—so perhaps he can get something nicer. Maybe a little closer to the airport even, but really, the idea of being alone is so overwhelming that he bins the thoughts for the time being, even though he knows full well that they do merit further consideration.

Martin rinses the conditioner out of his hair then remains under the cooling spray a while longer, his mind circling between Marcus and Douglas then returning to Marcus. As he turns the water off, he notes the sound of someone working in the kitchen, most notably a staccato rhythm that can only be someone chopping vegetables with a well-honed blade.

_Chop. _

_Chop, chop, chop. _

_Chop. Chop, chop. Chop, chop, chop. _

In seconds, Martin's world pivots on its axis and memories flood his senses. He grabs at the towel holder but misses with his wet fingers; he is vaguely aware that what he is experiencing is known as 'vertigo', the information, however, is useless as he slams to the tile on his rear end hard enough to rattle the hardware on the cupboard under the bathroom sink.


	4. Open All of the Doors

**Four: Open All the Doors**

_Shirtless, Martin comes around the corner and into the spotless kitchen, where Marcus is chopping potatoes on the bench. The knife blade glints in the light overhead as it flies over the tubers, flashing in and out of the pile with a precision a professional chef would envy. Martin watches his boyfriend for a moment, marveling at the timing and rhythm: potato on the bench, one, two, three slices then move to the next one. Marcus' every movement is masterful as he finishes up the potatoes then tips the cutting board towards the pan. Martin wonders vaguely what Marcus looks like when he's welding, if he has this level of control; Martin wouldn't know, he's never been around the shop nor has Marcus ever acted interested in taking him there. _

_The pan sizzles and he stirs the spuds with a black, long-handled spatula. Surrounded by the gleaming appliances and fashionable trim, Marcus looks a bit kingly and Martin hopes that what he needs to get out can be said without too much repercussion. _

_Marcus looks relaxed enough that Martin thinks that maybe it will be okay to speak now, since they have been having this same discussion daily for months and he's hardly disagreed with his boyfriend on any point. _

_Clearing his throat softly, he says, "Marcus, I like the little outfit, but, uh, maybe it's not really my style."_

_Marcus looks up from the pan, his eyes trace over Martin from head to toe and he frowns. "Martina," he says, putting special emphasis on the last syllable, "Why aren't you dressed, honey? I'm in here making you a special meal for our special evening and you aren't even ready yet." Baby-blues flash with barely-concealed anger, incongruent with the syrupy tone of his voice. _

_Martin gulps and steps back into the doorway. He hates being called Martina and he hates this game and he hates tucking his bullocks and he tries very hard to keep his mouth shut because of the last time. He is unsure whether he has actually said all of these things out loud or only thought them until Marcus' lips part and a strangled gasp echoes off the kitchen walls. _

_Absently, Martin rubs his chest where the bruise is healing. He was lucky that Douglas had gone out for the evening after they arrived at the hotel last night because the bathroom had been so tiny he had to change into his night clothes in the sleeping space. Marcus must have seen something in his face because he narrows his eyes._

_"Still hurts, eh babe?" _

_Martin nods without taking his attention from Marcus, who is getting closer by the second. He tilts his head up to meet the taller man's gaze then instantly understands how a hare feels when cornered by a bear. _

_Marcus' large hands come down on Martin's shoulders and he leans down as if to kiss him but bypasses his mouth completely and goes lower, latching his teeth onto one of Martin's bare nipples, hard. Martin gasps and his hands fly to Marcus' head as if to push him off but Marcus clamps his jaw harder and starts pushing Martin backward towards the sitting room until Marcus' larger stature causes him to fall into his chair. Just before he hits the cushion, Marcus lets go. Martin tries in vain to not see the spot of his blood on Marcus' bottom lip. _

_Marcus only grins when he wipes away the bit of moisture and presses his index finger against the graze on Martin's nipple. He pinches it until Martin cries out again. _

_"I'm only going to say this once, _Martina_, so you'd better listen. If you don't want to be strapped face-down on the bed your arse fucked tonight without lube, you'll get it into the bedroom and get dressed in the pretty outfit Daddy picked out for you. Am I clear?"_

_For the first time in his life, Martin finds the courage to stand up for himself; if he doesn't do it now, he might never. "Marcus, I don't want to play this game anymore. I can't…I'm not…I don't want to become a woman. That's not who I am. Please, Marcus, I don't want to do this anymore…"_

_SLAM! _

_Marcus' meaty fist makes contact with Martin's heaving chest. His head snaps against the back of the chair and he feels his teeth cut across his tongue. There's nothing for it, he can barely breathe. Martin grabs both arms of the chair and grips them tightly, trying to keep from passing out cold. Last time he did that…_

_No, I've got to stay focused; he thinks as the world around him dances chaotically. Marcus is screaming at him now, calling him a whore and a cockslut and then there's a gun and the smell of gunpowder and Jesus Christ the smell of all the goo inside a person's head and the side of his face is wet but these are tears it's not blood, it can't be blood because…no…_

_The next thing Martin remembers is holding his mobile in his hand and sobbing to the emergency dispatch operator about his boyfriend and a gun and then time speeds up and there are police and they are checking his hands for residue and there's none to be found and Martin wants to vomit when Marcus is picked up by the paramedics, which he sees despite the large copper standing in front of him and there's nothing left now but a stain and the _smell_...and the big copper is asking him if he is going to be okay and Martin gives him some type of an answer and then he is simply alone. _

_Single. _

_By himself. _

_Martin has no concept of how long he stayed in his chair that night after the police and paramedics leave the flat. He can still feel their eyes on him and the pain is his chest is making itself known again via a dull throb that he knows from experience will only get worse the more he lingers. His very next conscious action is standing up and going back to the bedroom to grab whatever clothing presents itself. Martin doesn't want to be alone. Those words become a mantra as he moves through the flat on auto-pilot. Somehow he gets his feet into trainers and then everything seems to slip away and he finds himself on Douglas Richardson's sofa, wrapped in the older man's arms and sobbing like a child who has lost his favorite stuffy. Somehow, though, it seems to be the right place after all of these wrongs._

_ooo_

In the kitchen, Douglas freezes, knife held aloft over the onion he is dicing in preparation of throwing it into the sauce pan. He is unsure whether Martin will like his sandwiches prepared this way, but he feels like he should at least give the other man the chance to say no. Just as he switches on the gas, there is a loud thud from the bathroom that shakes the floor. What the hell?

Douglas switches the burner right back off and heads towards the loo, calling Martin's name. He opens the door slowly to reveal a very wet and very naked captain huddled in the floor in front of the cupboard. Without thinking, Douglas steps into the room to grab one of the clean towels and wraps it around Martin's shoulders.

"What happened?" He asks calmly.

"I…" Martin tries. His throat is so dry that the words are stuck. He shakes his head weakly then lets it drop into his hands. Everything is so overwhelming right now that the fluffy white towel draped over him could just as well be a thick old quilt.

Douglas has a pretty good idea what happened, because he remembers having a similar experience of his own back when he first gave up the hooch but not before his entire life crashed around his ankles. Martin will talk to him when he's ready, and not before.

"Never mind that now, come on, let's get you up." Douglas holds out his hand. As Martin takes it, the towel over his shoulders slips off and then he is facing the first officer in all of his bare-naked glory.

Neither man moves. Douglas' eyes are drawn from Martin's injured torso to that thatch of auburn hair between his legs. He recovers quickly though, internally berating himself then feeling guilty for secretly enjoying the view. Martin blushes and the two of them reach down at the same time for the towel, which just brings Douglas' face closer to Martin's crotch than he intended. Douglas catches a whiff of clean skin and male musk. In one motion, he turns around and takes one step away, even going so far as to fake-cough into his hand to cover up his instant discomfort. Yes, that's what it was, he tells himself.

For his part, Martin gets busy wrapping the towel snuggly around his hips. "You can look now," he says to Douglas.

Douglas swears he hears a little bit of amusement in Martin's tone. "Uh."

Martin lets out a tiny, broken laugh. Douglas looks over his shoulder and offers the captain a tight smile.

"Well," he says in a voice gone gruff, "That happened. I'll go find you a change of clothes, alright?" He doesn't stick around to hear Martin's answer, though, much as he is trying to behave around his grieving friend. It's only been what? two days? _Get it together, Douglas, or you are going to have to send him to stay with Carolyn_.

The very thought of their boss, however, serves to focus his attention on digging through his bureau drawers and wardrobe for something that might fit Martin. Eventually, he comes up with a pair of khaki shorts and a smaller T-shirt. The shirt is a royal blue that should look okay with Martin's hair…Douglas frowns at his own slightly flushed face in the mirror on the back of the door. _Stop it, _his expression says clearly.

Martin is waiting in the kitchen and Douglas passes over the clothes. "No clean pants, though, I can get yours whenever you are ready for me to go and get the…" Martin pulls the blue shirt over his head and until right then, Douglas didn't realize how small it was. The soft cotton clings to Martin's chest and arms and he gives quite the show when he turns to walk into the bathroom to pull the shorts on. The towel has loosened up around his hips and the tight tee highlights all the muscles in his back and across his shoulders. How would anyone ever seek to hide that?

Douglas restrains himself from either barking or whistling or drooling—somehow—by going back to the lunch preparations. From down the hallway, Martin is speaking.

"Douglas, would you think it's really stupid of me if I decide I don't want _anything_ from the flat?"

"None of it? Surely you have a stack of flight manuals…" Douglas says, carefully stirring the caramelizing onions.

"No." Martin answers.

"Your books? What about all those plane models you built?"

"Nope."

"Your clothes, then?"

"No, Douglas."

"Why not?" Douglas asks as he slides a sheet with bread slices into the oven and finds that he is not put off at all by the slightly irritated tone in Martin's voice.

"The clothes? Because Marcus bought them all for me, except my uniform, and Carolyn says she wants to replace it anyway." Martin stands next to the sink. "Anything I can do?"

Douglas starts to say no, and then thinks otherwise. "Sure, you can grab dishes and silverware," he says, pointing to where those things can be found.

Martin gets out what they need and Douglas puts together two hearty sandwiches. Martin grabs two cans of soda from the refrigerator and they sit down at either end of the table. Douglas can't help but watch every move Martin makes and he is glad to see that it appears the captain is enjoying his lunch. When they are about halfway done, Douglas reopens the subject.

"Where is your van?" He asks simply.

Martin chews thoughtfully then takes a drink of Coke. "I think I drove it here. I remembered thinking I had to get out of there and leaving, then having to turn around and go back to get my keys."

Douglas gets up from the table and goes to the front door. He opens it, sees Martin's van in the driveway next to his Lexus and settles back in his seat.

"Yes, it's here."

"That's good then. Since Carolyn started paying me, I was able to get most of the minor repairs done that it needed." He takes another bite, clearly ravenous now.

"I'm glad to hear it." Douglas isn't as hungry as he thought he was, he's too busy watching Martin's expression of pure joy. "Enjoying that?"

Another faint staining of pink crosses Martin's cheeks. He covers his mouth with one hand and nods. "Thank you."

"You know you are more than welcome, Martin. What else are friends for?" Douglas answers, ignoring the strange twinge in his mind at the word _friends_.

In between them stretches the memory of a very naked Martin. Douglas speaks quickly in order to hide it, though they both silently acknowledge its existence. "What about your things, then?"

"Honestly, Douglas," Martin wipes his face with a napkin from the basket in the center of the table that at some point in its life had been filled with fruit. "Nothing in that flat is mine, per se. All of my stuff went into storage."

"Alright." Douglas says.

Martin hears the question in the statement. "Marcus…"

Douglas feels that all too familiar flash of anger again. "Let me guess, none of your stuff matched his décor? I thought it was your flat, too?"

"It was, Douglas. It was. It's just that he paid the majority of the rent…" Martin stops as if he is finally hearing his own words for the first time.

"Oh," he breathes, sounding quite pitiful. All of it crashes over him like a tidal wave and he slides his plate out of the way before dropping his head into his hands.

Douglas regards him for two heartbeats then moves behind him and pulling him out of his chair to wrap him up in his arms. "Go on," he croons gently, "let it out, Martin. Let it out."


	5. Into the World

**Five: Into the World**

Martin is curled up in Douglas' chair a week later, only half-reading the novel he's picked from the overstuffed bookcase in the corner. For some indefinable reason, he is anxious to see Douglas. Today is the first day Douglas has left Martin's side, and the captain finds himself glad that he would leave him alone but ridiculously nervous about it at the same time. For the third time in the last thirty minutes he jumps up from the chair and paces across the sitting room, following the same pattern each time: down the hallway past the kitchen towards the bathroom, then cross the hall to the guest bedroom where has slept every night for the past six days.

Well, mostly slept. He seems to remember doing some shouting and sweating, too. Maybe even a bit of crying.

He can pretty much count on both hands how many nightmares he's had in the past week—even some horrible dreams whilst kipping on the sofa. Through all of it, Douglas has been a wall of kind and caring strength, and…well, something else Martin is not ready to dwell on yet. He has let Martin cry on him, shout at him and even almost vomit on him, never holding him back, always making sure that Martin feels that he can let out of the darkness out at any time.

Martin knows in his heart that Marcus would never have stood for any of that, hell; he could barely stand it when Martin tried to talk about MJN. Of course, Marcus never knew about the times before Carolyn started giving him a regular paycheck; all he knew was that Martin lived in the student house at the agricultural college. Marcus never saw Martin struggle with keeping Icarus on its toes in order to scrimp together rent money, nor did he ever hear about Martin landing GERTI on one engine, nor about the disastrous interview with Swiss Air…no. Marcus knew about none of these things…and not because Martin wasn't interested in sharing his life with his boyfriend—it was due to the fact that said boyfriend was uninterested in knowing.

This epiphany physically hurts. Why did it take so long for him to really see this? A small kernel of a new thought—that maybe if Martin would have been able to understand these things about Marcus earlier then perhaps it all wouldn't have ended the way it did—of course, in the end, Marcus could have taken Martin down with him…what a terrible thought. Martin shudders at the horrific idea.

Martin stops his pacing and finds himself in front of the sliding glass door that divides the kitchen from the small but well-maintained yard. He studies the neatly-trimmed shrubbery that runs alongside the wall of the house and takes note of two rose bushes about ready to burst into life. Martin has a second epiphany, and this one is so much better than the first one: when Douglas Richardson cares about something, apparently he goes all out.

Martin shakes his head to clear some of the darker thoughts away for a little while as he slides the door open. It occurs to him, then, that he hasn't even been outside since the night he arrived and he finds that to be just a smidge sad. He looks up to the dark blue sky and the heavy clouds that threaten a shower anytime then carefully pads around the rosebushes, taking care not to step on anything.

For some reason, Martin cannot let the idea go that the roses are an insight into Douglas' soul. He admits to himself that he can't even fathom when Douglas has found the time in the past week to care for the plants, but it's obvious even to him that the ground around them has been diligently weeded and the roses watered—perhaps even that very morning. He tests a bit of the damp soil beneath one of the roses and thinks that he is right on that account. He touches his index finger to one of the closed-up buds, finding the texture of the flower soft as powdered sugar. Without a doubt, these will be beautiful when they unfurl.

A movement from the corner of his eye causes him to look up.

Douglas is standing in the open doorway holding a clear garment bag up high and smiling. Martin is delighted to see his new uniform and doesn't even try to suppress the giggle that bursts out from his throat. Douglas' eyes widen in surprise at the sound.

"Well, that was wonderful! What would it take to get you to do that again?" Douglas asks, handing over the bag.

Martin runs his fingers over the plastic, admiring the pristine white jacket, the gold stripes on the arms, and best of all, the neatly starched collar.

"Thank you, Douglas!" He grins, ecstatic with the idea of being back in the air.

"Well, go on, try it on. Mr. Baker says he can get any minor alterations done in about an hour, and as it stands we have about two and half before Carolyn expects us to report for duty." Douglas informs the captain. "I went ahead and filed the flight plan early, just in case we needed the extra time."

"Will do." Martin grabs the black plastic hanger, for just a few seconds allowing their fingers to touch. He is distracted enough that he forgets to be surprised that Douglas filed the flight plan.

Douglas' smile never falters, but he is a bit surprised about his reaction to such a fleeting touch. Martin heads towards the guest bedroom and Douglas finds himself rubbing his fingers together, searching for the small spark he felt between them. After a minute, he lets it go and heads towards the loo.

Douglas finds Martin standing in the center of the lounge with his arms stretched out admiring the gold bars on his snow white jacket. Douglas gives a low whistle and finds that he means it. It is almost as if he is a new man dressed in a uniform that actually fits him: trouser hems below his ankles, the sleeves on his jacket the right length and not to mention the shiny gold buttons and shoes that are polished within an inch of their lives. He looks absolutely splendid.

"All that's missing is your hat." Douglas laughs, managing to say _something_ without letting loose the words on the tip of his tongue.

Martin frowns. "I seem to have misplaced it."

"Don't worry about it, it's not like you need it." Douglas grabs his keys from the brown table by the front door.

"Well," Martin starts and Douglas turns to see. Martin is running his fingers through his curls, causing a veritable cascade of ginger ringlets to plop down over his eyes. He raises an eyebrow.

"Ah." Douglas says. "Alrighty then, next order of business: the captain needs a haircut."

Martin grins back and follows Douglas out the door. The ride over to the barber's in Douglas' Lexus is quiet but not strained. The first officer tries to keep a close watch on the captain without the other man being overly aware of the attention, though he learns fast that his covert actions are an epic failure.

"Douglas, I'm fine." Martin laughs under his breath as he looks out the window.

"Whatever do you mean, _sir_?" Douglas tries for some levity.

"Oh come on, you've been watching me like a hawk! I'm fine, truly. Don't you think by now if I was freaking out you wouldn't be the first to know?" Martin slips easily into his 'exasperated captain' mode.

Douglas chuckles and tries hard to keep his eyes on the road. "Honestly, it's your hair."

"My hair?" Martin sounds skeptical.

When Douglas takes another quick glance at him, those auburn eyebrows are trying to take over Martin's forehead. He lets go the wheel with one hand to pinch at a couple of long curls at the nape of the captain's neck. Douglas' fingers barely make contact with the skin above Martin's uniform jacket, but the captain gasps and goes completely still and silent.

"Oh," Douglas pulls his hand away. "I'm so sorry, Martin, I…I'm sorry. I didn't mean…" he finds himself stammering.

"It's okay." Martin says, sounding a bit breathless. He clears his throat and stares out the window. He promises himself that he will tell Douglas about Marcus and his hair; not right now, though, right now he just wants to have a little bit of a normal day.

Douglas has a short argument inside his own head. By the time they get to the barber shop, he has almost decided to say something about the strange little things that have been happening between them: maybe those things that always have. He shuts the car off and pulls the key out of the ignition then turns towards his passenger. What he sees, though, stills his tongue.

Martin is still staring out the window which gives Douglas a good view of his profile. He's got his right hand on the back of his neck; some of the ginger ringlets are caught around his long fingers. Something inside Douglas' chest lurches and a steady stream of pictures of Martin's hands flashes in front of his eyes. The confusing, conflicting feels of wanting to protect the other man from any harm but at the same time wanting to swipe his tongue across the back of that neck rise up in his body and he opens the car door to escape them.

"Douglas?" Martin asks, glancing toward the driver's seat.

"I'm here, Martin. Ready to go in?" Douglas leans against the door and fights to get his blood pressure back under control. Martin does not need this right now! Besides, he's got to admit he's nowhere near Martin's type, apparently. Marcus was big and pretty; granted the man couldn't have been all that rich in the smarts department, but he was certainly easy on the eyes…and not to mention about fifteen years younger than Douglas. Forget about even talking about the physical shape he was in.

In the car, Martin shrugs, thinking that there are times Douglas acts strange without provocation; maybe having a full-time houseguest is starting to wear him down? He opens the door and steps out into the sunshine. Douglas meets him on the pavement in front of the shop. He pulls on the door and they are greeted by the tinkling serenade of a tiny bell.

"Hi there, Richardson, old man! Coming in for a trim?" The barber, an older man wearing a white button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, calls out as they step into the shop.

Martin notices the man's round belly apparent beneath the long white apron that has several combs of varying sizes stuck into the pockets as he comes around the empty chair he has just finished wiping off. The man stuffs the green-and-white checked cloth into yet another pocket and holds out his hand. Douglas shakes it then gestures towards Martin.

"George, this is Martin Crieff, captain at MJN."

Douglas nods as Martin's small hand is engulfed by George's larger one. The older man pumps it hard enough that Martin feels his teeth rattle.

George reaches up and gives Martin a hearty slap on the shoulder. "Well, m'boy since you are looking positively _professional_ today, I've got to say you must be in need of some shaping up?" George peers closely at Martin's hair, even going so far as to grab Martin's chin and move his head back and forth.

Uncomfortable with the situation, Martin makes a small noise in his throat, but Douglas is faster. "Eh, George, the poor boy's had some stress lately, how about a shave, too?"

"I can do that. I'll even throw it in, in lieu of payment for that _gift_ of pitted olives from Patras a few months ago, eh?" George chuckles as he waddles back to the chair. He pats the seat. "Have a seat here, junior, I'll have you spiffed up in no time."

George moves to the sink at the back of the shop. Martin catches Douglas' eye as he sits down and mouths 'junior?' at him. The expression on Douglas' face says, eh? Martin knows that his friend would never bring him to a place where the proprietor was anything but kind to his patrons, even given the apparent trading he'd done with Douglas. Martin puts his head on the back of the chair and tries to relax.

"Douglas, could you take this?" Martin asks, sitting up fast and unbuttoning his jacket.

"Sure," Douglas holds out a hand for the garment. "I can do that." He drapes it over one arm like a posh waiter as George returns with a handful of linens.

"Thank you." Martin mutters from beneath a steaming hot cloth that has just been applied to his face.

Douglas smiles and watches Martin's eyes flutter at the sensation of the heat on his skin.

"Wow." The captain whispers and closes his eyes.

Behind him, George chuckles as he holds up a spray bottle of water to dampen Martin's hair before he begins cutting it. He catches Douglas' eye and pointedly looks down at the practically boneless captain and then to Douglas, raising one slate grey eyebrow in the process.

It takes Douglas a good thirty seconds before he realizes what the barber is asking. He knew his friend was open-minded, but he never expected anyone to see so obviously what he has been trying to hide even from himself. Douglas doesn't say anything, though, merely shrugs one shoulder and goes to sit down and wait, thinking that a warm shave might even do him some good as well. He watches while George trims up Martin's hair then squirts a handful of mousse out of a red clear plastic bottle. Two things happen almost simultaneously that make Douglas realize he's going to have to make a decision sooner rather than later.

The barber rolls his product-slicked fingers through the soaked curls and Douglas feels a zing of jealously. The power of the emotion is utterly out of place here in the only barber shop to be found in Fitton. At the exact moment this lightning bolt of feeling buzzes through Douglas, Martin lets out a small gasp as George's fingers make contact with his scalp.

Douglas jumps up and Martin opens one eye, oblivious to what is happening inside Douglas' head.

Caught completely off-guard, the first officer mutters something about needing to grab something from the store across the way and bolts from the barber shop with Martin's jacket still hanging over his arm.


	6. Every Boy

**Six: Every Boy**

In his own recollection, Martin Crieff has never been one to enjoy being fussed over: not from his mum, his siblings nor anyone (out of the bobsled team of people) that he's been with romantically. Sure, he wants to be considered a 'professional' whilst he's working and it bothers him to his wits' end that people confuse his and Douglas' positions with MJN…however, for another person to make a big deal about any aspect of his physical appearance, well, _that_ he's never been crazy about.

Until now, that is.

He can't get the _thing_ that Douglas said about his hair out of his mind. It's a double-edged sword to Martin; as much as they have talked about over the past week, Martin is unsure just how to go about discussing _that_ with the other man. He sighs.

Since he's had some space to think lately, it has come to the forefront of his mind that Marcus never really did anything _for_ Martin, not even when he asked. Mostly when they were together, their time was about Marcus shaping Martin into who he believed Martin should be. How did he not see it before? He simply doesn't know how to feel about it all: he's still in shock over the whole debacle, without a doubt and there is a lot of guilt of not attending Marcus' funeral…but what would have been the point? Marcus put so much effort into keeping Martin his secret that there would have been no one there he would have known anyway.

Martin considers these things as he listens to the quiet snick of George's shears. The sound is soothing lulls him into a bit of a stupor. Only after the barber slides his fingers across the back of Martin's scalp and Douglas high-tails it out of the shop that the pieces of that particular puzzle fall into place for him. Martin thinks he's wrong, though, because there is no way that what just transpired here actually happened the way his brain is trying to tell him that it did. In the past few days, he's the same emotions cycle through Douglas that Martin has been going through. Maybe the gasp reminded him of something Martin told him. Besides, he's been wrong about Douglas before…never mind the fact that the first officer has been _married_ three times to _women_.

He closes his eyes and tries to contain his reeling mind. He just can't deal with this right now. Martin tries to push his thoughts to being in the air again, but then they vehemently fight their way out and circle right back to Douglas and Martin makes an irritated sound in the back of his throat.

To his credit, George has all but ignored any of the sounds Martin has emitted since he sat down in the chair. Perhaps his hearing isn't the best, or maybe he's accustomed to it, Martin cannot say. By the time the barber has whisked the warm cloth off of Martin's face, the captain has pretty much made up his mind to make the attempt to get Douglas to talk to him; hopefully before they're due to meet Carolyn today. Maybe they can clear the air between them, if, indeed, that's what needs to be done.

Martin squirms a little at the light touch of the blade against his face when it pulls a bit around his chin and the spots in front of his ears. The stubble there is slightly longer than the rest. It isn't that way from lack of attention, however, rather from Martin's consistent re-use of the disposable razor Douglas gave him on the first night. He knows it is a ridiculous habit, but it is one of dozens he's sure he has that are turning out to be rather difficult to break.

George completes the shave by patting some clean-smelling lotion on Martin's face. The slight sting of it is enough to bring him out of his whirring thoughts.

"Go on then, stand up." George pulls Martin out of the chair and begins wiping his shoulders and the back of his shirt off with yet another cloth, this one is maroon.

Martin watches the little damp loops of his hair fall to the floor; the color is a striking contrast to the white linoleum. "Thank you," he says to the barber.

"My pleasure, young man, my pleasure." George waves his hand in a dismissive gesture between them when he sees Martin reach for his wallet. "No need there captain. It's all taken care of. Go on and find Richardson and you two try and have yer'selves a good day, alright?"

George gives him a wink and Martin pretends very hard that he didn't just see it. Martin offers a grateful nod in return and steps out into the sunlight. He barely registers the tinkling sound of the bell over the door as it swings shut.

Martin is a bit disoriented as he stands on the pavement in the bright sunlight, feeling more than a little out of place. He runs his fingers through the now neatly-shorn hair at the back of his neck and rolls his shoulders, preparing himself for whatever happens next. His face is incredibly smooth—probably more so than it's been since he was a child. Martin straightens his spine and scans the immediate area, trying to ascertain just where Douglas has gotten himself off to. He takes a deep breath and it's good, everything is going to be okay.

Martin wanders down the pavement, not really making much sense of the blur of faces passing him by, so he never notices Douglas until the first officer is right beside him.

"Martin," Douglas says, his voice pitched low so as to not startle the captain. "I'm sorry."

Martin stops and grabs Douglas' arm in order to pull him to the closest bench he can find but he doesn't let go so that they stand facing one another. People continue to pass them by, intent on their own lives.

"Why, Douglas, why are you sorry?" Martin is perplexed: Douglas has been nothing but good to him, an unannounced guest with an entire backlog of problems plus.

Douglas tilts his head to look into Martin's eyes and a new tension crackles between them. Martin has no warning before Douglas' fingers are clutching the back of his neck in a swift movement that has their faces so close they are breathing the same air. Douglas gaze is intense but wary as he whispers between them.

"For this." Then he kisses Martin. The fingers curving over Martin's neck tighten imperceptibly then instantly loosen; Martin knows full well that he could move if he really wanted to. His cyclonic thoughts come to a standstill and he returns the kiss.

When they pull apart, Martin is surprised to find that he clutching at Douglas' shoulders with both hands the way a drowning man holds onto the life rope. For a few heartbeats, its fine, this is a possibility…then it dawns on Martin where they are and what is happening and a new flavor of guilt smashes into his chest and he steps back, still holding Douglas' shoulders but keeping him at arms' length.

Both men are breathing heavily. Martin is surprised to find that despite the crushing guilt that is descending on him, he mostly wants to do it again. Badly. Something inside him stops that thought, something nags at him to find out what's really happening here.

Douglas watches Martin's reaction, feels the tight grip of the other man's hands on his shoulders as the captain retreats a couple of steps and generally feels like a complete arse. Fearing that he's just blown things completely out of proportion, he follows his instinct and doesn't move, doesn't say anything.

"Douglas," Martin finally manages to get out. "I…" He hands his head and stares at the pavement by his feet. "That…um…I…"

For his part, Douglas cannot stand the idea that Martin is going to friend-zone him. On the other hand, he doesn't want the captain to think that he's looking for a payback for helping him out, either, so he tries to explain.

"Martin, listen to me. Please?"

Martin's stammering stops and he turns his full focus onto Douglas.

"It should be obvious by now that I care about you, Martin; and I have for a long time." Douglas says, his expression open.

Martin nods his head.

"So, you see, this isn't…this isn't something that I've just decided today or in the past forty-five minutes and not even when…"

Martin cuts him off. "You never said anything…never gave me any indication."

"I know I didn't. Here, sit down." Douglas gestures towards the bench and takes Martin's uniform jacket off of his arm. Martin takes it and slides his arms into it, leaving the buttons undone; he sits up stiffly and does not rest against the back of the bench. Douglas turns so that they are facing each other again but makes no move to touch the other man.

"No, I was stupid," Douglas begins. "By the time the third Mrs. Richardson was gone, I thought that maybe I was destined to be alone. A doddering old Sky God rambling about the house cooking and gardening in between flights. I have been alone off and on my whole life, Martin, understand that. It was not a big deal." He takes a steadying breath.

"Douglas, I…"

"Please, Martin, let me get it out. I can't hold it back anymore and if it wrecks my chances with you, I can live with that, but please, let me say this."

"Alright." Martin answers and a little of the tension he's carrying seems to evaporate on the spot.

Douglas finds that he is leaning in towards Martin and corrects himself, wanting to make sure Martin knows full well that he has a choice. After everything he's said about Marcus, Douglas finds himself wanting to be completely the opposite of everything Marcus was.

"Good." On impulse, he brushes a curl off Martin's forehead. Martin doesn't move, doesn't breathe, and only stares at him. "I had only just adjusted to being alone again and it was fine, it really was. It was months before you told me you had met someone at a pub that I realized that I had basically sabotaged my marriage _on purpose_. I could have told her the truth at any time, and I think, in the beginning, I think she might have even forgiven me and we could have moved on. But I was so caught up in my own lie that I let it all fall apart. In between it all, though, there were so many times that I would come home to an empty house and I am not proud to admit that I was glad I was alone because it gave me a chance to think about…things …without the irritation of having to explain myself."

"I don't…" Martin tries then goes silent again. The pleading look on Douglas' face is enough.

"I know you don't, Martin. And I'm not telling you these things so you can blame yourself, alright? I want you to understand that I've been thinking about _you_ for a long time now, long enough that when you came to me and told me about Marcus, I should have said something at that point. Right then and there, but I couldn't." Douglas looks away.

"Why?" Martin asks.

"Because you seemed to be so happy, Martin. Marcus is, no-was closer to your own age and he seemed to genuinely care about you and that was all I could ask from the universe, or karma or whatever you want to call it—all I could ask was that you found someone who loved you and could be a partner to you, do you understand?" Douglas is feeling so wrung out but cleansed at finally being able to put his thoughts into words.

Martin is silent for a while, mulling over this new information. He rests his hand on Douglas' shoulder. "Douglas, I'm not good for anyone right now. Not even myself."

"With all this stuff with Marcus?" Douglas asks quietly.

"Yes. I think he…" Martin huffs an exasperated sigh and waves his other hand between them. "I think he, oh damn. I'm trying to say that I think he _broke_ something…something inside of me. You see?" Martin grips the collar of his jacket in his fingers.

Douglas nods and takes another chance, putting his arm around the captain's shoulders and drawing him in close and loosening Martin's hold on his jacket. There are so many more words he needs to say to Martin that he hopes the gesture will fill in the gaps.

"Martin, I really want you to know that I'm here for you, okay? However you need me. We'll cross the bridge together, I can promise you that. Stay with me. You can stay in the guest room until you've had enough. I won't bring any of this up at MJN or on the flight deck…just promise you'll talk to me, yeah?"

Martin nods his head and lays it against the arm around his shoulders. He lets himself sink into the warmth there for a few minutes and thinks how easy it would be to simply tell Douglas that he can have anything he wants—but he knows, deep down, that everything he has said to Douglas is the truth: he's got to deal with the mess Marcus left behind first because it would be unfair to ask Douglas for anything else.

After a few minutes of a comfortable silence, Douglas looks at his watch. "Well, captain, we've got about thirty minutes to get the airfield. You ready?"

Martin stands up and knocks the dust off his snow white trousers. He turns his gaze skyward as he steps out from under the awning of the shop they are next to, taking in the scattered clouds and the azure zenith above them.

"Yes, I think I am."


	7. Every Girl

**Six: Every Boy**

In his own recollection, Martin Crieff has never been one to enjoy being fussed over: not from his mum, his siblings nor anyone (out of the bobsled team of people) that he's been with romantically. Sure, he wants to be considered a 'professional' whilst he's working and it bothers him to his wits' end that people confuse his and Douglas' positions with MJN…however, for another person to make a big deal about any aspect of his physical appearance, well, _that_ he's never been crazy about.

Until now, that is.

He can't get the _thing_ that Douglas said about his hair out of his mind. It's a double-edged sword to Martin; as much as they have talked about over the past week, Martin is unsure just how to go about discussing _that_ with the other man. He sighs.

Since he's had some space to think lately, it has come to the forefront of his mind that Marcus never really did anything _for_ Martin, not even when he asked. Mostly when they were together, their time was about Marcus shaping Martin into who he believed Martin should be. How did he not see it before? He simply doesn't know how to feel about it all: he's still in shock over the whole debacle, without a doubt and there is a lot of guilt of not attending Marcus' funeral…but what would have been the point? Marcus put so much effort into keeping Martin his secret that there would have been no one there he would have known anyway.

Martin considers these things as he listens to the quiet snick of George's shears. The sound is soothing lulls him into a bit of a stupor. Only after the barber slides his fingers across the back of Martin's scalp and Douglas high-tails it out of the shop that the pieces of that particular puzzle fall into place for him. Martin thinks he's wrong, though, because there is no way that what just transpired here actually happened the way his brain is trying to tell him that it did. In the past few days, he's the same emotions cycle through Douglas that Martin has been going through. Maybe the gasp reminded him of something Martin told him. Besides, he's been wrong about Douglas before…never mind the fact that the first officer has been _married_ three times to _women_.

He closes his eyes and tries to contain his reeling mind. He just can't deal with this right now. Martin tries to push his thoughts to being in the air again, but then they vehemently fight their way out and circle right back to Douglas and Martin makes an irritated sound in the back of his throat.

To his credit, George has all but ignored any of the sounds Martin has emitted since he sat down in the chair. Perhaps his hearing isn't the best, or maybe he's accustomed to it, Martin cannot say. By the time the barber has whisked the warm cloth off of Martin's face, the captain has pretty much made up his mind to make the attempt to get Douglas to talk to him; hopefully before they're due to meet Carolyn today. Maybe they can clear the air between them, if, indeed, that's what needs to be done.

Martin squirms a little at the light touch of the blade against his face when it pulls a bit around his chin and the spots in front of his ears. The stubble there is slightly longer than the rest. It isn't that way from lack of attention, however, rather from Martin's consistent re-use of the disposable razor Douglas gave him on the first night. He knows it is a ridiculous habit, but it is one of dozens he's sure he has that are turning out to be rather difficult to break.

George completes the shave by patting some clean-smelling lotion on Martin's face. The slight sting of it is enough to bring him out of his whirring thoughts.

"Go on then, stand up." George pulls Martin out of the chair and begins wiping his shoulders and the back of his shirt off with yet another cloth, this one is maroon.

Martin watches the little damp loops of his hair fall to the floor; the color is a striking contrast to the white linoleum. "Thank you," he says to the barber.

"My pleasure, young man, my pleasure." George waves his hand in a dismissive gesture between them when he sees Martin reach for his wallet. "No need there captain. It's all taken care of. Go on and find Richardson and you two try and have yer'selves a good day, alright?"

George gives him a wink and Martin pretends very hard that he didn't just see it. Martin offers a grateful nod in return and steps out into the sunlight. He barely registers the tinkling sound of the bell over the door as it swings shut.

Martin is a bit disoriented as he stands on the pavement in the bright sunlight, feeling more than a little out of place. He runs his fingers through the now neatly-shorn hair at the back of his neck and rolls his shoulders, preparing himself for whatever happens next. His face is incredibly smooth—probably more so than it's been since he was a child. Martin straightens his spine and scans the immediate area, trying to ascertain just where Douglas has gotten himself off to. He takes a deep breath and it's good, everything is going to be okay.

Martin wanders down the pavement, not really making much sense of the blur of faces passing him by, so he never notices Douglas until the first officer is right beside him.

"Martin," Douglas says, his voice pitched low so as to not startle the captain. "I'm sorry."

Martin stops and grabs Douglas' arm in order to pull him to the closest bench he can find but he doesn't let go so that they stand facing one another. People continue to pass them by, intent on their own lives.

"Why, Douglas, why are you sorry?" Martin is perplexed: Douglas has been nothing but good to him, an unannounced guest with an entire backlog of problems plus.

Douglas tilts his head to look into Martin's eyes and a new tension crackles between them. Martin has no warning before Douglas' fingers are clutching the back of his neck in a swift movement that has their faces so close they are breathing the same air. Douglas gaze is intense but wary as he whispers between them.

"For this." Then he kisses Martin. The fingers curving over Martin's neck tighten imperceptibly then instantly loosen; Martin knows full well that he could move if he really wanted to. His cyclonic thoughts come to a standstill and he returns the kiss.

When they pull apart, Martin is surprised to find that he clutching at Douglas' shoulders with both hands the way a drowning man holds onto the life rope. For a few heartbeats, its fine, this is a possibility…then it dawns on Martin where they are and what is happening and a new flavor of guilt smashes into his chest and he steps back, still holding Douglas' shoulders but keeping him at arms' length.

Both men are breathing heavily. Martin is surprised to find that despite the crushing guilt that is descending on him, he mostly wants to do it again. Badly. Something inside him stops that thought, something nags at him to find out what's really happening here.

Douglas watches Martin's reaction, feels the tight grip of the other man's hands on his shoulders as the captain retreats a couple of steps and generally feels like a complete arse. Fearing that he's just blown things completely out of proportion, he follows his instinct and doesn't move, doesn't say anything.

"Douglas," Martin finally manages to get out. "I…" He hands his head and stares at the pavement by his feet. "That…um…I…"

For his part, Douglas cannot stand the idea that Martin is going to friend-zone him. On the other hand, he doesn't want the captain to think that he's looking for a payback for helping him out, either, so he tries to explain.

"Martin, listen to me. Please?"

Martin's stammering stops and he turns his full focus onto Douglas.

"It should be obvious by now that I care about you, Martin; and I have for a long time." Douglas says, his expression open.

Martin nods his head.

"So, you see, this isn't…this isn't something that I've just decided today or in the past forty-five minutes and not even when…"

Martin cuts him off. "You never said anything…never gave me any indication."

"I know I didn't. Here, sit down." Douglas gestures towards the bench and takes Martin's uniform jacket off of his arm. Martin takes it and slides his arms into it, leaving the buttons undone; he sits up stiffly and does not rest against the back of the bench. Douglas turns so that they are facing each other again but makes no move to touch the other man.

"No, I was stupid," Douglas begins. "By the time the third Mrs. Richardson was gone, I thought that maybe I was destined to be alone. A doddering old Sky God rambling about the house cooking and gardening in between flights. I have been alone off and on my whole life, Martin, understand that. It was not a big deal." He takes a steadying breath.

"Douglas, I…"

"Please, Martin, let me get it out. I can't hold it back anymore and if it wrecks my chances with you, I can live with that, but please, let me say this."

"Alright." Martin answers and a little of the tension he's carrying seems to evaporate on the spot.

Douglas finds that he is leaning in towards Martin and corrects himself, wanting to make sure Martin knows full well that he has a choice. After everything he's said about Marcus, Douglas finds himself wanting to be completely the opposite of everything Marcus was.

"Good." On impulse, he brushes a curl off Martin's forehead. Martin doesn't move, doesn't breathe, and only stares at him. "I had only just adjusted to being alone again and it was fine, it really was. It was months before you told me you had met someone at a pub that I realized that I had basically sabotaged my marriage _on purpose_. I could have told her the truth at any time, and I think, in the beginning, I think she might have even forgiven me and we could have moved on. But I was so caught up in my own lie that I let it all fall apart. In between it all, though, there were so many times that I would come home to an empty house and I am not proud to admit that I was glad I was alone because it gave me a chance to think about…things …without the irritation of having to explain myself."

"I don't…" Martin tries then goes silent again. The pleading look on Douglas' face is enough.

"I know you don't, Martin. And I'm not telling you these things so you can blame yourself, alright? I want you to understand that I've been thinking about _you_ for a long time now, long enough that when you came to me and told me about Marcus, I should have said something at that point. Right then and there, but I couldn't." Douglas looks away.

"Why?" Martin asks.

"Because you seemed to be so happy, Martin. Marcus is, no-was closer to your own age and he seemed to genuinely care about you and that was all I could ask from the universe, or karma or whatever you want to call it—all I could ask was that you found someone who loved you and could be a partner to you, do you understand?" Douglas is feeling so wrung out but cleansed at finally being able to put his thoughts into words.

Martin is silent for a while, mulling over this new information. He rests his hand on Douglas' shoulder. "Douglas, I'm not good for anyone right now. Not even myself."

"With all this stuff with Marcus?" Douglas asks quietly.

"Yes. I think he…" Martin huffs an exasperated sigh and waves his other hand between them. "I think he, oh damn. I'm trying to say that I think he _broke_ something…something inside of me. You see?" Martin grips the collar of his jacket in his fingers.

Douglas nods and takes another chance, putting his arm around the captain's shoulders and drawing him in close and loosening Martin's hold on his jacket. There are so many more words he needs to say to Martin that he hopes the gesture will fill in the gaps.

"Martin, I really want you to know that I'm here for you, okay? However you need me. We'll cross the bridge together, I can promise you that. Stay with me. You can stay in the guest room until you've had enough. I won't bring any of this up at MJN or on the flight deck…just promise you'll talk to me, yeah?"

Martin nods his head and lays it against the arm around his shoulders. He lets himself sink into the warmth there for a few minutes and thinks how easy it would be to simply tell Douglas that he can have anything he wants—but he knows, deep down, that everything he has said to Douglas is the truth: he's got to deal with the mess Marcus left behind first because it would be unfair to ask Douglas for anything else.

After a few minutes of a comfortable silence, Douglas looks at his watch. "Well, captain, we've got about thirty minutes to get the airfield. You ready?"

Martin stands up and knocks the dust off his snow white trousers. He turns his gaze skyward as he steps out from under the awning of the shop they are next to, taking in the scattered clouds and the azure zenith above them.

"Yes, I think I am."


	8. Places

**Chapter 8: Places**

"I can't help but worry that you won't always be this patient with me, Douglas." Martin says from behind his hands.

The captain curls tighter into himself, head resting on his knees, his hair a fiery mess in the dying sunlight peeking through the window of their hotel room. They are sitting side by side on the bed, their backs against the headboard, the pillows smashed up between them. They have just shared an intense session of kissing and petting where Martin has gone from pliant and willing to this tight ball of nervous energy. Both men are shirtless and barefoot, but still wearing their uniform trousers. They arrived a little over an hour ago and have somehow managed to forget their dinner plans for the moment.

Everything had been going fine-swimmingly, in Douglas' opinion-until he made the mistake of unzipping Martin's trousers and cupping his balls through the material of his cotton pants without saying anything first. Immediately, the captain's entire body had gone rigid and he pulled away so fast Douglas barely had any time to get his hand back. He would never lie and say it has been easy getting used to talking during intimacy, but he will admit that it has been good for him. In some ways, it has made their budding relationship more about them and less about the physicality of it.

Douglas lets Martin go in order to give him the space he so obviously needs and knowing that the captain's reaction is not personal. He cradles Martin's knee with his hand, trying to keep some physical contact without it being overwhelming; Martin relaxes a little under Douglas' touch, though he does not move his hands from his face. His fingertips are mashed so tightly against his hairline that they have blanched from the pressure.

Douglas eases closer and pulls Martin's hands down and does not let them go.

"Martin, let me tell you this: I've never _wanted_ to be patient with anyone before you."

"I don't understand." The captain mutters at the walls as he tries to look away from the brown eyes peering into his soul.

Douglas gently grips Martin's chin. Their gazes lock and he swears that he can _taste_ the electricity crackling around them.

"I honestly know no other way to explain myself," he says pointedly.

Martin does not respond but some of the wary expression on his face dissipates. He frowns, wrinkling his brow then tightens his grip on Douglas' hand. It is on the very tip of his tongue to ask about patience and the Mrs. Richardsons times three, but something in the other man's expression is already answering the unspoken question. In that instant, Martin understands that Douglas is telling him the complete truth.

Douglas sees comprehension dawn on Martin's face and he smiles. "May I?" he asks, leaning in closer.

Martin nods and moves into Douglas' space, their lips touching gently in between. It's a sweet kiss, almost chaste except for the heat that Douglas can feel growing between them. After a few seconds, however, he pulls away, breaking contact completely and resting his hands in his lap. He pushes back up against the headboard and angles his legs so they hang off the side of the mattress, effectively allowing Martin to choose whether he wants to be close or have some space.

To Douglas' amusement, Martin shuffles forward on his hands and drops his head onto the first officer's shoulder, the force of the movement pushing a loud grunt out of Douglas' chest. Martin huffs as he finishes by draping himself all over Douglas' bare back.

"Thank you, old man." Martin cracks a snort then giggles.

"What did you call me, _junior_?" Douglas rumbles as he turns around so he can wrap his arms around the captain. He chuckles before kissing the top of his head as Martin giggles again.

"Old...man." Apparently, Martin has hit slap-happy.

"Oh, that's enough, you." Douglas pokes his fingers into Martin's ribs in order to make him laugh some more; he is pretty sure he could get addicted to that sound.

"Douglas..." Martin is on his back now, hands grabbing at Douglas' forearms and feet trying for purchase against the side of the bed. "Thats..." he chokes on another giggle. "Stop!" he finally is able to get out.

Douglas stops and Martin lays there, gasping but still laughing. He watches the captain carefully, taking in the sheen of sweat on his chest, the slightly flushed face and tousled hair. A very large something curls in Douglas' chest and begins to purr, telling his subconscious that if Martin looks like this _now_, he's going to practically glow after a great shag.

Martin stops laughing and opens his eyes when he feels Douglas go still. They stay that way for a few moments until Martin grabs the back of Douglas' neck and hauls him downward for another searing kiss. Douglas keeps himself propped on his hands as Martin's fingers splay over his back. When they both come back up for air, Martin closes his eyes again and leans his head back against the now wrinkled sheet.

"It's not that I don't want to, Douglas, or that I _can't_...I mean, I am able...it's just I want him gone, out of my mind...before we...we..." Martin stammers.

"Shh, Martin, I told you, I understand. I really do. Look at me." Douglas says from where he is now crouched over his favorite captain of all time.

Martin swallows and does as he is bid. "Yes, Douglas?"

"I've got an idea. Let's you and me go have some supper, then come back here and try out the swimming pool? I hear its heated." Douglas grins.

"Sure, Douglas," Martin says as he lets out the breath he didn't realize he was holding. He is aware that something new is happening here, but has no desire to label it yet. "That's a great idea."

"Good then, _junior, _sir! We have to put clothes on, though, it may be a small place, but I'm sure its a sight better than a walk-up on the beach." Douglas kisses Martin one more time then moves off the bed to rummage through their bag for something to wear. As he strolls towards the bathroom, Martin grabs around the waist from where the smaller man is still perched on the bed. Martin buries his face against Douglas and they stand that way for a little while, quietly contemplating each other.


	9. Places, Continued

**Chapter 9: Places (continued)**

The hotel's restaurant is a big, modern affair topped off with an open floor plan. The tables are evenly spaced around the large dining area that is decorated in shades of cream and pale yellow. White linen cloths adorn the tables; petite crystal bud vases sit next to shiny chrome condiment holders. Martin turns his head to smile up at Douglas who is walking a pace behind, thoroughly enjoying the sight of Martin and the place as it opens up around them.

They wander down a row of tables. Each man takes a seat and it isn't very long before a waitress wearing a bright yellow apron over her black and white uniform appears next to them. Her black hair is neatly done-up in a bun with a gold pin in it. Her name tag reads "Lisa."

"Good evening, gentleman," she says pleasantly as she hands out their menus.

"Thank you," Martin tells her. Douglas is amused to hear the 'I'm shy' tone creep into the captain's voice.

"You're welcome. What would you two be having tonight?"

"Could you give us a minute?" Douglas asks.

"Sure. Would you like something to drink? We have an excellent white wine." Lisa offers.

"Martin?" Douglas raises his eyebrows.

"You don't mind?" Martin wonders. Douglas shakes his head to the negative.

"Not at all, go ahead." Douglas turns back to the waitress. "He'll have the wine, but I think I'll just go with coffee this evening."

"Yes, sir," she tells them with a smile and moves towards her next customers.

Martin fiddles with the bud vase until it begins to tip over, then he snatches it quickly before it hits the table. He chuckles under his breath when he realizes that the miniature sunflower sticking out of it is silk.

"Thought I was going to give you a lapful just then." Martin says, playing with the flower between his fingers.

Douglas grins and counts to three. He's quite impressed when it only takes Martin two seconds to realize what he has just said. A fine blush paints his face from chin to forehead. Douglas is powerless to stop himself. He leans forward and tilts his head at a rakish angle and narrows his eyes.

"Ah, Martin, anytime. But I think you already know that." Douglas purrs.

"Douglas!" Martin does his best to appear mortified but all Douglas can do is laugh when the hiss between the captain's teeth is more coy than angry.

It feels so wonderful to laugh that their meal goes by in a rush. Seeing Martin relaxed and happy is more than he could have hoped for. When they finally end up outside their room, it has somehow happened that Martin unlocks the door and turns directly into Douglas' chest.

For a second, neither man moves.

Douglas' hand comes up without any thought on his part and rests on the back of Martin's neck. It seems like Martin is going to pull away, but at the last heartbeat, he pushes himself up on his toes and brings both hands to Douglas' shoulders. This time Douglas lets Martin take the lead and holds himself back from what he really wants to do, which is press Martin up against the door and kiss him until they are both rutting against each other with reckless abandon. Of course he doesn't do that, but that doesn't stop his brain from picturing it anyway.

Doesn't help that Martin's hands are now around his face, palms spread against his jaw and holding him in place for Martin to rather thoroughly plunder his mouth. There's a quick swipe of an incredibly hot tongue against his bottom lip and Douglas has no other choice but to open his mouth wider and moan when the captain leans his lean, wiry frame against Douglas' stouter one. Douglas can taste the wine on Martin and the dry flavor reminds him of his younger days.

After a few steaming moments, Douglas has to break away to breathe. "Martin, would you mind terribly if we take this _into _our room?"

Martin's face colours up beautifully and he drops back down onto the soles of his feet then grabs Douglas' hand in order to lead him into the room. Somehow they manage to get their shirts unbuttoned and their shoes and socks off before dropping side-by-side on top of the duvet. Douglas still remembers what happened earlier, so for the most part he makes the effort to keep his hands above the belt.

Martin is having none of it. He's already got Douglas' trousers unzipped and is casually running his index finger over the first officer's erection over the cotton of his pants. His green eyes are blazing in the twilight as he leans in to run his tongue up Douglas' neck while the hand not stroking his dick is clasped around Douglas' shoulder.

"Can I touch you, Martin?" Douglas pants. Somewhere in the back of his mind is a teeny-tiny warning bell; just like on GERTI, however, he chooses to ignore it, thinking that perhaps he is still reacting to what happened earlier.

Martin's hand on Douglas' shoulder trembles just enough that the first officer knows he had better tread lightly. "Please," he says, his eyes locking onto Douglas' face.

Douglas obliges him, carefully and slowly until Martin grabs his hand with a growl and practically shoves it down the front of his trousers. Douglas smiles and then has it almost sucked off his face when he squeezes Martin's cock. Martin huffs and moves his mouth from Douglas' to the side of his neck.

Douglas finds himself moaning at the feel of Martin's lips against his neck. They fall into an easy rhythm and Douglas finds that watching Martin come is one of the greatest sights in his entire life. It happens quickly and Martin latches onto a spot under Douglas' jaw as Douglas continues to stroke him through his orgasm. His hand falls slack on Douglas' cock and the first officer simply takes the time to just _look_ at Martin, now lying flat on the bed, his ginger curls mussed and that same blush on his boyish face reaching from ear to ear by way of the bridge of his nose, and good lord, those cheekbones. Douglas grips his dick and pulls, fulling intending to finish what they started.

Martin's eyes snap open and he smacks Douglas' hands away, instead licking the palm of his hand and stroking Douglas' cock between them. He gently cups Douglas' balls and rolls them. The first officer groans and is right on the edge when Martin whispers.

"Douglas, look at me."

Douglas is now on fire and he's going to burn forever on the expression on Martin's face: one part need, one part amazement, and one part the most honest look Douglas has ever experience. When he comes, all he can see are Martin's eyes. He collapses back onto the bed and clutches the captain's hand tightly in his own.

Once he recovers, he cleans them both up and they fall asleep tangled together, Martin's head against Douglas' chest and Douglas' arms wrapped around the captain's shoulders. He is surprised at how quickly things progressed this evening, and will admit to enjoying it and even considering it, but he can't help worrying a little about how Martin will react to things once he has slept off the wine buzz.

* * *

Just a quick note here: my computer crashed a couple of weeks ago and I lost pretty much _everything_, which included my outlines for three of the four current fanfics I happen to be working on. Naturally I have an idea where those stories are going, and I will finish them. In the meantime, I'm going to keep posting here and on AO3 so I can keep moving forward! Thank you for reading, and stick with it, this story is not over yet! ;)


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